Hero
by geekmama
Summary: Education and adventure await nine year old Jamie Turner, sailing as crew on the Black Pearl for the first time.
1. Caught Out

**Written for Live Journal's potcfest. Many thanks to my superb beta, Hereswith. **

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**Chapter One: **_**Caught Out**_

"James! _James Turner!!_"

James William Turner started at his mother's call, far too close at hand, and was betrayed into uttering an expletive: "Bugger."

This in no wise caused his cohorts in crime to think less of him. "Does she know where we are?" Robbie Banks whispered fearfully, his round blue eyes growing even rounder.

"Naw, she couldn't!" Josh Tennet said, though he kept his voice low.

But the call came again, disproving this hopeful theory: "_James William Turner, come down from the foc's'l cabin of the Mary B. this instant or by the powers there'll be a grim reckoning between the two of us._"

"Bugger!" Jamie groaned.

His friends scattering quick and silent into the labyrinth of Shipwreck City like the young bilge rats they were, Jamie made his way down to the tilted afterdeck of the Mary B. where his mother, the Pirate King, stood scowling, booted feet apart, arms crossed. He faced her squarely, but kept his tone on the wheedling side as he asked, "How'd you know we were here, ma'am?" To his relief, her lip twitched, as though holding back a smile.

"Your Uncle Jack told me to look here. He said he knew it of old, the perfect place for a pack of young ne'er-do-wells to secret themselves against the rigors of study."

"Uncle's back? And me not there to greet him!"

"You would have been, if you'd been in school with Dr. Barry." She shook her head. "James, how do you expect to become the captain of your own ship someday without an education? This is the fourth time this month you and your friends have taken off! I told the good Doctor I wouldn't tolerate use of the cane in the school, but perhaps I erred?"

A cold chill swept through Jamie. He was no coward, but…. "No, ma'am," he said, quickly. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"It's so… dull! It was mathematics again today, drilling and drilling, and never getting anywhere. I already know—"

"And do Robbie and Josh 'know'?"

"Well… no—"

"Then why do you take them away from where they can learn? James, it was not well done of you."

Jamie's eyes fell away from his mother's accusing ones. "But they're my friends."

"Then one would think you'd have a care what trouble you draw them into. Dr. Barry is one thing, but their parents are another. Robbie and Josh should both be eating supper off the mantelpiece tonight, and the blame lies at your door. I know they would not have gone had you not tempted them. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, ma'am." James swallowed hard. Josh would be all right, he was tough as nails, but Robbie…

But then his mother relented. "As it happens," she said, more mildly, "I saw their parents down among the crowd at the docks as the _Pearl_ came in, and it's not likely Dr. Barry will let the cat out of the bag. So to speak."

James looked up. "You've spoken to him?"

"I have." Her eyes narrowed. "If you had your just deserts… but your Uncle takes a lighter view of the matter, though he does agree it's time you had more training at sea, so you know the good and bad of it, and precisely where you'll be using your mathematics. The _Pearl_ is leaving again tomorrow, on the noon tide, and you'll be on her."

James gasped in shocked delight. "Mum!"

"Jack has received a letter from the governor of Providence Bay, requesting a dozen cases of French brandy, among other sundries, and, specifically, your company for his son while the goods are offloaded and the bargain struck."

"Gilbert!" James capered, and grabbed his mother's hands. "Thank you! I swear I'll be good from this day on!"

She turned her hands and caught his, squeezing them. "You'll think of your men before yourself, _savvy?_ That's the mark of a good captain."

Jamie chuckled at his mother's use of Uncle Jack's pet word. "Yes, ma'am, I _savvy!_ Can we go? I want to see him!"

_**TBC**_


	2. Pirate Princeling

**Chapter Two: **_**Pirate Princeling**_

It was a fortnight's sail in good weather to Providence Bay, and Jamie was happy as a lark the whole time, even though his Uncle Jack worked him "nigh to death."

His uncle laughed at his dramatickal air, but also said, "Belay that, ye lazy brat. You're plenty old enough to start learning your trade – and haven't you been beggin' to do just that these many months?"

So every morning Jamie performed the duties of a cabin boy, learning to clean and straighten the cabins, helping Cook in the galley, and generally making himself as useful as possible doing odds and ends all around the ship. Ragetti showed him the routine during the first couple of days out, and the thin pirate with the glass eye proved both adept and meticulous, and made very sure Jamie followed suit.

About mid-morning, Jamie would be called in to a late breakfast with the _Pearl_'s captain, a privilege certainly not accorded ordinary cabin boys. "Nothin' ordinary about you, though, is there?" said Uncle Jack, with a twinkle of kohl-rimmed eyes. "And it don't hurt to have something sweet to ease the bitter." The bitter being Jamie's nemesis, the dreaded Mathematics, which invariably followed the meal's delicious camaraderie.

However, as much as he professed to dislike the subject, Jamie found that the boredom he'd experienced with Dr. Barry's instruction was a thing of the past. His uncle's lessons moved along at a fair clip – almost too fair -- and featured elements of both navigation and cartography, which certainly increased their interest. Moreover, Uncle Jack had "no patience for balking schoolboys", as he put it. "I know precisely how bright you are, so the tricks ye've been using with Barry won't do. You'll cease the whining and apply yourself, or you'll be scrubbing the heads this afternoon instead of havin' that lesson at swordplay." He was as good as his word, as Jamie found on their third day at sea – "Mr. Gibbs, I wash me hands of this young sluggard. He's yours 'til the morrow, and I wish you the joy of 'im." Gibbs had proven surprisingly demanding, and yes, cleaning the heads was the vilest work imaginable. From that day forward, Captain Sparrow's apprentice was careful to keep a curb on his tongue and his mind on the task at hand.

For, having given satisfaction in academic pursuits, afternoons on the _Pearl_ were devoted to instruction in the use of weaponry, from firearms of all sorts and sizes to a plethora of potentially lethal hardware, both blunt and bladed. For the first time in his life, Jamie was allowed to wield a shortsword, and fencing practice quickly became his favorite pastime. "God's Teeth! You're a natural, just like your pa, an' his before him!" Uncle Jack exclaimed at the end of the first week, an exaggeration, maybe, but highly gratifying nonetheless.

During the first day's practice, Uncle Jack had paused, cleared his throat, and said very offhand, "No need to tell your mother about this when we get back, savvy?" Jamie had hastened to reassure, almost hurt that his uncle thought he could be so foolish. It wasn't only that his mother thought him too young for such pursuits. Mother was a true pirate, and ruthless when the need arose, but though she handled a sword better than many men, diplomacy was her weapon of choice and she'd made it clear she wanted it to be Jamie's first choice as well.

Uncle Jack shook his head. "She's deadly as they come, all on her onesies: a wicked wit and beauty to match. But she's a woman, and that's a weapon in itself, whether she'll admit it or no. A right sharp-edged one, too. You'll never have that advantage. Best learn the sword, and master it, to give your words teeth."

Jamie frowned, misliking something in his uncle's tone. "I will. But… you love mother. Don't you?"

"Oh, aye. Never could help that, really, from the day I met her, and it's just gotten worse over the years."

"Worse?"

"Aye. You'll learn about that in good time. For now, _en garde, petit chien!_"

o-o-o

In the late afternoon it was ropes and rigging and the many parts of the ship. Mr. Gibbs took Jamie in hand for this and put him through his paces, but much of it was review for a lad who'd been sailing since before he could walk. As the sun sank toward the horizon, Gibbs let him go, sending him off to help Cook in the galley again.

Dinner was eaten with the crew while Jamie's uncle took the helm during the hours of the dogwatch. After his meal, Jamie would come stand beside Jack, or even between him and the _Pearl_'s wheel, and together they'd watch the sun set in a blaze of glory fit to make the angels sing.

"Put your hands on 'er, lad, and see how she feels," Jack would tell him, and Jamie would obey, grasping the _Pearl_'s spokes, marveling at her.

"She's alive!" he said, once, tightening his hands, feeling the tremble of her breath in his arms and shoulders.

His uncle smiled. "She is that. She likes you, lad."

"I know," Jamie agreed, for that had been a truth for as long as he could remember.

o-o-o

On this voyage, and also for the first time, Uncle Jack let Jamie stay up as late as he wanted each night, to listen to the talk and music of the crew as the stars came out and the moon rose, butter gold in the east. Wild stories of the sea, bawdy portside tales, songs that ranged from hilarious to heartbreaking. Jamie couldn't get enough of this happy epilogue, and he'd fight long and hard against slumber, but always to no avail.

"Come, Jamie, time for bed, lad."

Hands gentle but firm helped him up and guided him, stumbling, to the Great Cabin where lay his cot, as it always had. No ordinary cabin boy, indeed. The captain of the _Pearl_ himself valeted him, and tucked him up, and heard his mumbled prayers. By day, Jamie was at pains to insist he was no longer a babe, but some nights, as he drifted off, a light hand was placed upon his brow and soft words came to his ears – _Good night, sweet boy!_ – and that, coupled with the _Pearl_'s own lullaby, was a comfort not to be scorned, sending him to peaceful sleep, and dreams worthy of a Pirate Princeling.

_**TBC**_


	3. A Disparity of Circumstances

**Chapter Three: **_**A Disparity of Circumstances**_

Providence Bay was a pretty place. A town of several hundred people was spread out upon its south shore, and the edge of Sir Calvin Pennistone's vast plantation ran down to the water the rest of the way around. A clear blue sea, a long strip of white sand beach, then gentle, grassy slopes led up to the forest-bordered fields. The plantation was a rich one, growing a variety of crops for home use, but mainly tobacco for export. Sir Calvin was a careful man, professing to hold himself and those around him to high standards, and his affairs had prospered.

Great wealth and an unfortunate weakness for certain worldly luxuries had brought Sir Calvin into Jack Sparrow's orbit when the two had met by pure chance in St. Thomas. A business relationship had been established, helped along by the friendship that quickly sprang up between Pennistone's son Gilbert and Jamie Turner upon their first meeting. While Uncle Jack and Sir Calvin hammered out the details of an arrangement for the delivery of a quantity of fine brandy that the _Pearl _had lately relieved from a French barquentine off Basse-Terre, Jamie and Gilbert had found that they had much in common besides their ages. Jamie's mother, returning to the _Pearl _after visiting a friend in the town for the day, found Jack and Sir Calvin concluding negotiations over a glass of the _aqua vitae_ in question, and the two little boys driving Gibbs to drink with their endless "shenanigans".

Elizabeth approved of Gilbert, remarking that it wouldn't harm Jamie to be exposed to the elegant but more mundane life enjoyed by this scion of the minor aristocracy. And if Sir Calvin had had any reservations regarding Jamie's suitability as a friend for his son, they were completely allayed by his stunned appreciation of Jamie's mother. 

"Knocked acock he was, love," Uncle Jack said to her slyly when the Pennistones had taken their leave. "You've got a new beau."

Elizabeth told him not to be absurd, but subsequent encounters with her admirer over the next few days only added fuel to the fire. "I don't know whether to laugh, or run and hide," she said after his second visit, adding, "And Jamie, you will _not _tell him I said that, do you understand?"

Jamie had reassured his mother promptly, having no wish to jeopardize his association with his new friend. 

Jamie and Gilbert had enjoyed three glorious days together on St. Thomas, and the following year they had met again under similar circumstances. This year, however, Sir Calvin had asked that the _Black Pearl_ bring the happily anticipated cargo to his Providence Bay plantation where Captain Sparrow and Jamie would be welcomed as guests.

The town was too small and the inner bay too shallow for a wharf of any size, so the _Pearl _dropped anchor some distance out and two longboats were lowered. One was for the crew, granted shore leave in small groups -- "And mind you don't abuse the citizenry," Jack had growled at his men -- and the other was for Jamie and himself, and a case of brandy from their cargo, by way of lubrication, for the price for the remainder had not yet been set.

When Jack and Jamie were halfway to shore, Gilbert, his father, and two other men could be seen, emerging from the trees at the top of the slope.

Jamie jumped to his feet, making the boat rock, and waved his arms joyfully. "Gil! Gil! We're here!"

"Sit down!" said Uncle Jack, a laugh in his voice, a sharp tug on the back of Jamie's coat forcing the issue.

Gilbert was seen to look to his father, who nodded, and the boy broke into a run. He reached the shoreline before the longboat, and his father and the other men were still coming down the hill, though the two could now be made out, black men dressed in simple garb.

"He's brought slaves to help with the goods," said Jack to Pintel and Ragetti, who'd rowed them in. "Seems you lot'll be able to get right back to the ship."

"Awww. I was 'opin' to get a look at the place," Ragetti complained.

"What for?" Pintel demanded. "The captain 'as a _business _arrangement with these folk. Can't be liftin' their trinkets, too."

"Wasn't thinkin' of that," Ragetti objected.

"_Sure _you wasn't," laughed Pintel.

"Shut it!" Jack told them. "The little lad'll hear you."

"Gilbert!" Jamie exclaimed, jumping up as the longboat nosed the sand. He was over the side in a trice, splashing into the shallow water.

As Jamie reached dry sand, his friend grinned and pounded him on the back. "Good old Jamie!"

Jamie returned the favor. "Good old Gil!"

"Old's a matter of perspective, ain't it?" Jack observed and rose and stepped from the longboat with the grace of visiting royalty as Sir Calvin arrived, puffing and damp-browed.

"Welcome to Providence Bay, Captain Sparrow!" he said with a slight bow. "It is very good to see you." He glanced at the slaves. "Ben, Caleb, get the crate from the boat and take it to the house."

"It ain't so heavy, lads," Ragetti assured the two as they complied.

"Heavy or not, you'll take the greatest care of it," Sir Calvin said, and Jamie's brow wrinkled at his tone.

But Gil didn't seem to think anything of it. "Come on, Jamie! Let's go on ahead. I want to show you everything!"

Jamie turned to his uncle, who lifted a brow and made shooing motions with gaudily ringed fingers. "Off y'go, then. You know how to behave."

Jamie grinned. _Behave_ meant different things, depending on one's company, of course, but having been exposed to the full gamut of society from an early age, from the dregs of Tortuga to his mother's old aristocratic connections, Jamie was confident of giving satisfaction.

o-o-o

The plantation grounds, the house, and the outbuildings were well-made, very attractive, and everything neat as a pin, and the contrast between this orderly environment and his own home in Shipwreck Cove made Jamie chuckle.

"What?" demanded Gilbert.

They were sitting on the wide front porch of the plantation house in the late afternoon, eating apples and fresh bread with butter and jam, and drinking glasses of lemonade.

"It's so... different."

Gilbert shrugged. "Don't you like it?"

"Aye," Jamie hastened to reassure his friend. "So many beautiful things, and everything clean and bright, and everyone working hard to keep it that way. It's just..."

"What?"

"Smaller, I reckon. Though that's not what I mean, exactly. It's a big place, right enough. It's just... you don't hear a lot of singing." Jamie frowned, frustrated at his inability to express his feelings.

"Do they sing much at Shipwreck Cove? Father says it's a terrible hard life, being a pirate."

"It is, in some ways. But they sing -- all the time! And laugh, too, whenever they can. I wish you could visit."

"I doubt father would ever let me."

"Well, if you ever need a place to run to, Shipwreck Cove's the place."

"Why would I need a place to run to?"

It was Jamie's turn to shrug. "You never know what life'll throw at you, my uncle says. And he should know."

"Tell me some more about him. He's an odd one – so says my father, anyway. But I like him!"

"He's a good man, and a good pirate," Jamie said, firmly, quoting his mother. "And no one else like him in all the world."

Gil laughed. "That's the truth!"

"Did I tell you about the time he escaped the gallows, and the rope already 'round his neck? My mother was there, and my da. Right under the noses of the Commodore and his marines it was, and my grandfather's nose, as well. He was the Governor!"

"The Governor? Your grandfather was a governor? And the rope already 'round your uncle's neck? He couldn't!"

"Did, though, on my honor. Here's how it was..."

The tale took some telling, and Gil was so wide-eyed at it that Jamie couldn't help embellishing the already fabulous details. They were so deep into it that neither of them noticed when another youngster came and sat cross-legged on the grass a few feet in front of them, until said youngster gave a small gasp at a particularly exciting point and both boys looked up.

Gil exclaimed, "Paki! They sent you back already."

"Yes, Master Gil. They said you might be needing me."

Jamie studied the newcomer curiously. Dark of skin and solemn of demeanor, a little taller than Jamie and Gil, and thinner, the boy was dressed in the same sort of plain garb that Ben and Caleb had been wearing. "You're a slave," Jamie said in surprise.

"My slave," Gil said, very matter-of-factly. "Father gave him to me last year, on my birthday."

An odd feeling muddled Jamie's insides at this pronouncement. He knew, of course, that people kept slaves. He even knew some people who used to _be_ slaves. Why, the Pirate Lord Gentleman Joe himself used to be one, and had told Jamie some rather blood-curdling stories about it. And of course, Uncle Jack...

"What's the matter?" asked Gil.

"Nothin'," Jamie said. "It's just... there's this other story about my uncle."

"But you haven't finished the one about the hanging yet!" Gil objected.

"Oh, yes!" Paki said, then added, "Beggin' your pardon, can I stay and listen to the end of it?"

It occurred to Jamie that perhaps he wouldn't tell the other tale just now, the tale of how his uncle had saved a whole shipload of slaves, men, women, and children like Paki, and almost died for it. He found it took some effort to smile at Paki and Gil, but he did it, and said, with as light an air as he could, "All right then. Where'd I leave off?"

o-o-o

Jamie and Gil were allowed to come down to dinner with the adults that evening. Paki's mother, Subira, helped them wash and dress for dinner, and Jamie felt very grown up as he descended the broad staircase and joined the company assembling in the parlor.

"What a fine looking little lad you are," said Gil's mother, who had felt well enough to join the company.

Gil had said that his mother had recently lost another baby, and wasn't "quite up to snuff yet", and Jamie could see that it was true. The lady seemed pale and rather tremulous. Jamie made a leg, gracefully, just as his uncle had taught him, and said in sincere tones, "Thank you, ma'am, and for your hospitality." That brought a faint color to her cheeks, and a spark of amused approval to his uncle's eye, as well.

Uncle Jack, dressed in Piratical Splendor, looked quite singular in the Pennistone parlor. It was a dichotomy, as Ragetti would say. Two worlds, in one small room.

But there were three worlds, really. For when the Pennistones and the pirates sat down to an elegant dinner together, they were waited upon by slaves, more finely dressed than Paki, and Ben and Caleb, but with the same grave, subdued air. Of course, servants were supposed to be unobtrusive, but Jamie was still disturbed.

He said as much to his uncle, later, when they were alone on the porch as Jack was about to take his leave to return to the _Pearl_ for the night. Jamie was to stay with Gil -- and Paki. "Uncle Jack... how is it folk can 'own' other folk? It doesn't seem..."

"Right?" Uncle Jack supplied.

"Not only 'right'. _Possible_."

Uncle Jack nodded. "I know what you mean. But it's a fact of life for a great many souls, lad. It won't always be -- there's noises against slavery here and there in the world. But it won't be gone in my lifetime, or in yours, I'll wager."

Jamie frowned. "Gil has a slave of his own. Paki's his name. Might be Gentleman Joe's son!"

"Except he'd be free, then, wouldn't he?" Uncle Jack took up Jamie's hands. "Paki, and his mum, and Ben and Caleb an' the rest are people, just like you an' me. Don't you forget it."

"Gil and his mother and father don't think that way."

"No. But they haven't had the benefit of your education, have they?"

Jamie chuckled, knowing quite well that the Pennistones would view his education in quite another light, for all their kindness and hospitality.

Uncle Jack squeezed Jamie's hands. "Just you do the best you can. You'll only be here a couple of nights. And who knows? Pennistone's a lost cause, but his son might be taught, if you're clever about it."

"Piratical!"

"Aye!"

Jamie loosed his hands and hugged his uncle, who pulled him close. "A pirate and a good man, so said your mother the day you were born."

"That's what she says of you!" Jamie said, looking up with a grin.

Jack gave a reminiscent chuckle. "Took her a mite longer to see it in my case, bein' blinded by your da's light an' all. But she knew it right off with you, soon as she laid eyes on you. I'd say she spoke the truth."

**_TBC_**


	4. Vile Misfortune

**Chapter Four: **_**Vile Misfortune**_

Jamie blamed it on the full moon, a superstition he had picked up from Gibbs. "Moonmadness, aye, I've seen it often and often," Gibbs would say. "'Specially on a long voyage. Never know what mischief or misfortune'll befall a man at the full moon." Uncle Jack usually scoffed at this. "Sure it's the moon. She's wide shoulders. She'll take the blame and not a peep out of her." But it had to have been the moon, for how else could so many things go so wrong in one day?

It started out small. Jamie and Gil woke just before dawn, and Jamie got up from the warm bed to go look out the window of Gil's bedroom. Mist lay silver over the grounds of the house and the fields beyond, and then turned to pale gold as the sun peeked over the edge of the hills.

Gil came up beside him. "Let's get dressed and go down. Marta promised to make us calas for breakfast."

"What are those?" Jamie asked.

"Fried rice cakes. Let's go, but be quiet! We don't want to wake my mother and father."

Jamie complied, and soon they were tiptoeing past Gil's parents' room and down the staircase. But when they reached the kitchen they found a minor disaster: the kitchen boy had stumbled over the threshold and dropped the whole basket of eggs he'd gathered, creating a huge mess and eliminating the possibility of calas . "I'm sorry, Master Gilbert," said Marta. "Sixteen of 'em! I shudder to think what your papa's going to say about porridge instead of calas, but it can't be helped."

"Porridge is fine, ma'am," Jamie said. "That's what I have most days."

But Gil said, grumpily, "I hate porridge. I'll just have toast with jam, and some buttermilk."

Marta obligingly indulged the young master, though it took more time to prepare two different breakfasts -- particularly when she burned the first batch of toast. "Lordy, I don't know what's the matter with me today," she muttered.

Gil rolled his eyes in silent derision at this, but Jamie gave him a surreptitious kick under the table -- it was never wise to show disrespect for the cook. And then, ten minutes later, Gil was reaching for a slice of the second batch of toast and managed to knock over his full glass of buttermilk.

Jamie attempted not to laugh, but failed. Marta was definitely not laughing for she had to clean it up. And Gil was suddenly in a temper.

"This is stupid. Let's go." He pushed away from the table.

"I've only finished half of mine," Jamie objected. "And you haven't eaten at all."

"We'll eat later -- come on! We're wasting time!"

"Sorry, ma'am," Jamie said to Marta, feeling torn about leaving her to deal with still another mess.

"Come _on!_" Gil snapped at Jamie.

"You get on now," Marta said, but gave Jamie a quick smile.

The morning was a fine one, weather-wise, and the plan was to spend it fishing in what Gil called the New Thames, a wide stream that ran tree-shaded across the edge of the Pennistone property. Jamie was expecting something quite grand, considering its name, for he had seen the actual river Thames a few years back, but he was surprised to discover how small it was. Still, it seemed a pleasant enough spot for fishing, and Gil's temper had improved in the trek over to it. Paki had come with them as bearer, carrying the fishing poles, and when Gil mourned the lack of breakfast, the slave passed his master some of the corn cakes his mother had made and wrapped up for him to bring along. Content after consuming this simple provender, Gil joined Jamie and Paki in digging for worms, then all three settled down to fish.

An hour later they had yet to get even a nibble. "Not that I'm complaining," Jamie said, mildly, "but this is more just washing a line than actual fishing."

"Can't understand it," said Gil. "I usually have good luck here! We'll wait another half hour and if we don't get anything by then we'll go back."

"Fair enough," Jamie agreed.

Twenty minutes later Paki got the only bite of the day -- and one that bowed the pole right to the water!

"A big one! Hang on to it, Paki!" yelled Gill and set his own pole on the grass to go help.

Jamie looked at the water and could see something big and dark moving beneath the surface. "What is that? Gil... I don't think..."

"What? Don't let him go, Paki! Here..."

Gil waded into the water to grab the line, and Jamie watched, his hair on end, expecting disaster, and sure enough! A shape round and black and spiked exploded from the water. All three boys yelled in fright, and Gil in pain as well, for he couldn't move fast enough to entirely avoid the monster.

"Snapper!" yelped Paki, throwing the pole at it and backing away. "Gil, are you all right?"

"Yes, I think so -- he didn't take a chunk out of me, at least. That was the biggest snapping turtle I've ever seen!"

"Let me look at your leg," said Jamie. Gil obliged, wincing as Jamie drew down his torn stocking and washed away the blood. "Just some shallow cuts. But aren't turtles..."

"Poison!" Paki completed Jamie's thought, his eyes wide.

Gil paled a little.

"Is that true?" asked Jamie. "Thought I'd heard that, but it didn't bite you. I don't know much about snappers -- sea turtles, yes..."

"Let's go home," said Gil, sounding scared.

They picked up the two remaining poles -- Paki's had been lost to the monster, which had indeed been well hooked -- and started back to the house, grim and silent.

When they were halfway there, to their vast relief, they met Jamie's uncle, rounding a bend and swaying toward them on the path.

"Uncle Jack!" yipped Jamie, and ran to him.

"Givin' up so soon, lads? I was just coming to see what luck you were having."

"_Bad_ luck!" Jamie averred. "Gil's hurt!"

"Is he?" Uncle Jack frowned, and crouched as the other two boys came up and stopped. "I noticed the limp," he told Gil. "What the devil did this? Let's have a look."

"Snapper," Gil said tightly, steeling himself as Jack carefully examined the wound.

Jamie caught Gil's hand and squeezed hard. "It was a monster snapping turtle, all spikes and ripples of horn on its back! Paki says they're poisonous. Are they, Uncle Jack?"

"Not as such," Uncle Jack said. "Can make you devilish ill, though. Keep hold of his hand, Jamie. I've me flask, and a clean handkerchief to bind it when it's washed." He squinted up at Gil. "Don't want to discourage you, but this'll hurt like blazes. Are you ready?"

Gil nodded, set his teeth and squeezed Jamie's hand right back. He gasped once, at the first touch of the spirits on the open wound, but made no other sound, though there were tears on his cheeks by the time it was over and the wound bound.

"There, all finished and neat as a pin," Uncle Jack said, giving the knot a final tweak before rising.

"You were brave as anything, Gil!" Jamie assured him. Jamie's hand was released and he flapped it some, trying to get the feeling back into it.

Gil laughed shakily, and swiped his damp cheeks with his sleeve.

"You all right, Master Gil?" said Paki in a small voice, still holding the fishing poles, a few feet away.

"Aye," Gil reassured him.

Uncle Jack nodded. "Let's get back, then. There was a late breakfast bein' laid out, and calas on the menu. Seems they sent to the town for eggs." He winked, his smile glinting gold.

**o-o-o**

Uncle Jack's handiwork was pronounced first rate by Gil's parents, and Mr. Pennistone sent men to catch "the brute" that had harmed his boy. The meal, complete with outstanding calas, restored the boys' spirits entirely, and the sun shone on the remainder of the afternoon, literally and metaphorically, as Uncle Jack would say. A price for the brandy having been agreed upon, they went down to the bay to supervise as the goods were transferred from the _Black Pearl_. Then Gil insisted that Jamie should come riding with him.

"Better you than me, lad," Uncle Jack said with a grimace.

Jamie laughed, remembering when they had visited mother's cousin in England and Uncle Jack had been persuaded to ride to hounds. "Bloody near crippled me," Jack had sworn after, and had advised Jamie against horses ever since. But though Jamie didn't ride often, he enjoyed it when he had the opportunity, and he was nothing loth now.

Gil gave Jamie his gentle old pony, and took his mother's smallish gray mare for himself. Then they rode all over the west side of the island, including the town, where Jamie ran across Pintel and Ragetti and some of the others coming out of a shop.

Pintel told Gil, with a waggle of brows, "Your da's given us a whole pig. Capt'n Jack says we kin 'ave an 'ooley on the beach tonight."

Ragetti chuckled and nodded in gleeful anticipation, but then assumed a saddened air. "Too bad you two'll be dinin' formal like."

Pintel laughed. "Aye! Mind yer manners, lads, use your napkins, an' the right forks, an' don't forget to lift yer pinkies like proper little gentlemen!"

Jamie grinned, but when they were away he said to Gil, "I wish we _could _go to the pig-roast."

"A real pirate party! So do I. But I doubt father would let me."

So it proved. An hour later, when they'd stabled the horses, they were immediately directed to go wash and dress for dinner. Both Uncle Jack and Mr. Gibbs were to attend, and Marta had gone to great trouble to make a feast of many courses.

"No roast pig, though," Jamie complained in an aside to his uncle.

Jack shushed him, but with a smirk. "How can hot, salty roast pork, sizzlin' and drippin' with fat, compare to this lot, eh?"

Jamie groaned, his mouth watering, but Jack nudged him with a sly elbow and he obediently fell silent and attended to the plate before him.

It was a long, very formal meal, as Pintel had predicted, and the day was gone by the end of it, every candle in the dining room ablaze. Uncle Jack and Mr. Gibbs excused themselves as soon as it was over. "I'll just go check on the lads," Jack said. "Make sure they're behavin' an' all."

"Aye," agreed Gibbs, burping slightly. "Pardon me, ma'am. A fine dinner!"

"I hope you enjoyed it, Captain Sparrow?" asked Gil's mother, who'd noticed the small portions Uncle Jack had taken.

"Fit for the gods!" he reassured her. He bowed over the lady's hand, and gave her that _look _of his. Jamie managed not to laugh, but it was a near thing, what with Gil meeting his eye and looking quizzical.

Mrs. Pennistone fluttered, cheeks pink. "Oh, Captain! It's been a _great _pleasure to meet you!"

"You're too good, ma'am."

He gave Jamie a conspiratorial wink as he bid him goodnight. "We'll be off on the tide in the mornin', lad. Be on the beach with your kit by seven sharp."

"I will," said Jamie. He whispered, "Save me some pork, aye?"

"Bloody hell I will!" Jack whispered back, then added, "Pardon me French," and glanced around as though to check that Jamie's mother wasn't eying him askance from the shadows.

**o-o-o **

Since Mr. and Mrs. Pennistone retired soon after dinner, Gil and Jamie did so, too, though they planned to stay up as late as they could manage, playing games and talking. Paki stayed as well, joining in with enthusiasm. It was enough to keep Gil happy for an hour or so, but then he grew restless and wandered over to the window. "I've an idea," he said, and a slow smile lit his face. "Let's have us a pipe!"

"A what?" Jamie asked, coming up beside him.

"Smoking!" Paki sounded dismayed. "Master Gil, your da--"

"He'll never know, Paki. They're asleep, wth everyone else. This year's tobacco's just now ready to ship out -- your uncle's taking some as payment, Jamie. Let's do it. I'll go get some pipes from my father's study."

Jamie frowned. His mother didn't approve of him smoking -- not that he'd done more than try it with his uncle, or with Captain Teague. But he didn't like using such an excuse with Gil. "I'm not so fond of tobacco," he said, instead.

"You haven't tried ours! It's the best in the Caribbean," Gil asserted. "Come on. And be quiet."

They donned their clothes and went downstairs again, quiet as mice in the darkness. Gil slipped into his father's study, and presently emerged with two pipes and a silver flask. "Brandy. Need something to take the edge off the pain in my leg."

"Is it bad?" Jamie asked. It hadn't seemed to bother Gil all afternoon.

"Terrible bad!" Gil said, but there was a chuckle in his voice.

He led Jamie and Paki out of the house and across to the farthest of three big storage sheds, wherein lay the bales of tobacco, ready for market. "A ship from Havana's coming in another week."

"You trade with the Spanish?" asked Jamie, surprised.

"Aye. They give the best price." Gil let them inside the shed, redolent of the cured leaf, and, after turning up the flame on the oil lamp he'd brought, closed the door.

As Gil prepared the pipes for smoking, they passed the flask around between the three of them -- Gil coughed at the burn of it, as did Paki, but Jamie didn't ("Pirate!" he said hoarsely to the admiring Gil, and laughed). Then the three settled down comfortably to share the two pipes between them, their backs against the wall of brown bales. Jamie didn't find the tobacco to his taste, in spite of Gil's praise, but he persevered as his uncle always had seemed so fond of the habit. But by the time they'd smoked both pipes, Jamie was feeling rather ill.

"Another?" Gil asked. "Or have you had enough?"

"No!" lied Jamie. "It's good!"

Gil expertly knocked the dottle from each pipe and began to refill them, taking his time and emoting on the benefits of tobacco and the excellence of Pennistone Leaf in particular. Jamie and Paki were both rather quiet, and almost somnolent through this, sipping from the flask occasionally, until finally Gil was finished and Jamie glanced at him to find smoke curling up from where the smoldering dottle had fallen, and the flick of a red flame.

"Gil, behind you!" Jamie said, struggling up. Paki gasped and leapt to his feet. And Gil, seeing their fear, whipped about and, in doing so, accidentally knocked the oil lamp from the bale he'd set it upon.

All three boys cried out in horror as the oil splashed upon the flame, and the glass broke. For a moment they were plunged into darkness.

"Is it out?" Gil asked, hopefully.

And then with a sort of _whoosh_ the fire sprang up anew, big and spreading as the oil had spread. The boys yelled in dismay again, tore off their jackets and beat upon the flames, but to no avail.

The shed was afire.

_**TBC**_


	5. Hero's Choice

**Chapter Five: **_**Hero's Choice**_

They got out, choking and coughing, covered in soot, but unharmed otherwise. But the fire was fierce inside, and smoke billowed from the door of the shed.

"Run and get your father and his men," Jamie yelled at Gil. "I'll get the Pearls!" He didn't wait for a reply, just lit out across the field, low cut at this time of year, fortunately, heading for the line of trees that topped the slope leading down to the bay, and the beach where the hooley was still no doubt in progress. Fear of what would happen if the fire spread to the other sheds, and fear of what consequences surely lay before them in any case, roiled his mind and stomach, and as he reached the trees he grabbed onto one, then fell to his hands and knees and vomited. It was half due to the illicit tobacco and brandy, he knew from the burn of it, and as he finished, he got to his feet, and wiped his mouth and streaming eyes, and swore he'd never touch the stuff again, no matter how piratey such habits were!

He slowed a little coming off the hill -- no use risking an ankle, that's all he needed! -- but as he hit the sand he broke into a run again, heading down the beach, straight for the bonfire, now burned quite low, but still surrounded by many of the Pearls. "_Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!_" To his relief, the familiar figure rose from the sand.

"Jamie! What the devil? What's happened?"

"Fire!" Jamie cried, stumbling to a halt. He bent forward, trying to catch his breath, but as his uncle strode toward him, he straightened and blurted, "Me and Gil and Paki were smoking in one of the sheds and the oil lamp got knocked over and the shed's on fire!"

"Are you hurt?" Uncle Jack demanded, looking him up and down.

"No, none of us were. But the fire -- we couldn't put it out. It might spread to the other sheds!"

"And the fields," said Mr. Gibbs, coming up beside Uncle Jack. He shook his head. "There'll be the devil to pay for this."

"He knows it," snapped Uncle Jack, and Jamie swallowed hard at his grim tone. Uncle Jack hesitated a moment, looking up the rise, and then made his decision. "Right. Let's go." He turned to the rest of the crew, who'd mostly wandered over by now. "Follow me, lads, we'll see what we can do to help put out this fire of Jamie's. Hop to it!"

The lot of them set out at a fast trot, some groaning about it but none of them hesitating to follow their captain. Jamie kept up with Uncle Jack easily, and was tempted to voice an objection to the assertion that the fire was his, but refrained. Time enough to clear that up, and it wasn't as though he was entirely blameless.

The Pearls were huffing and puffing by the time they got to the top of the hill, but when they saw the shed, flames leaping up high into the night sky, and the swarm of figures around it, their energy was renewed and they took off hell for leather across the field to help. Everyone on the plantation that was within shouting distance of the sheds was out, passing buckets of water in a long line, beating at the flames with whatever came to hand, clearing the ground between the burning shed and the adjacent one. The night was windless and there was a full moon, and both worked in their favor, but Mr.Pennistone sounded close to hysteria as he directed his people, and Jamie didn't see much hope.

Gil and Paki were standing just outside the fiercest action, and Jamie joined them.

"God's feet," muttered Gil.

"At least no one's hurt," said Jamie.

"Yet!" Gil looked miserable. "And it's a third of our harvest. Father'll murder me!"

"Maybe," Jamie couldn't help but agree, and briefly wondered what his own fate would be. Whatever it was, he just hoped his mother wouldn't find out about all this. She'd never let him sail on the _Pearl_ again!

The fire wasn't spreading, but suddenly there was a terrible cracking sound and the crowd ran from the flaming shed as the walls collapsed and the fire reached its apex with a horrific roar.

"Damnation! Damnation!" Mr. Pennistone shrieked -- there was no other word for it. Sweating, filthy, his face beet red. He was ten feet away from them, and Jamie could see that he was completely losing control of himself, unprecedented behavior for an adult, in Jamie's experience. It was frightening, and certainly wouldn't help matters, either.

"Father!" exclaimed Gil, sounding scared, too, and then gasped as his father turned toward them, his eyes wild.

"Bloody insolent damnable spawn of Satan!" the man roared, and came at them.

The boys gave a collective yelp and backed away, but not fast enough. But it was not Gil who was the target of Mr. Pennistone's unreasoning wrath, it was Paki. He grabbed the boy by a skinny arm and began to beat him about the head and shoulders. Paki cried out, struggling, but a blow to the side of his head silenced him. Jamie shook off his horrified paralysis and yelled, "No!" and Gil grabbed his father's arm.

"It wasn't Paki! Father, it was me! I knocked the lamp over!"

But Mr. Pennistone brushed Gil aside and continued beating the slave, roaring, "You let him! You who had the care of him! Bastard brat, I'll..."

There was the scrape and ring of steel and quick as anything Uncle Jack had his sword at Pennistone's throat, his other hand gripping the man's arm. "Let the boy go!" said Uncle Jack, and Jamie shivered in awe at the sound of his uncle's voice, the feral look of him in the moonlight.

Pennistone had frozen, but took a moment to respond to the command.

"Now!" Uncle Jack hissed, tightening his hold, and there were other swords, and knives and boarding axes, drawn by the rest of the Pearls, who moved to support their captain. Pennistone's slaves and servants edged away.

Pennistone let go, and Paki fell, half fainting. Jamie went to him. The young slave was shaking, tears and terror in his wide eyes, and there was a long bruise forming on the side of his face. "It's all right, it's all right," murmured Jamie, laying a trembling hand on the boy's head.

In the background, Jamie could hear Gil weeping, "It was me, Da, not Paki! It was me!"

Mr. Pennistone ignored his son, and said in a voice that shook with rage, "Let me go, or by God I'll see you hanged by dawn, Sparrow."

Jamie froze, and looked up quickly, but his uncle only said scornfully, "Better men than you have lost at that game, believe me. Jamie! Is Paki fit to walk?"

"I don't think so," Jamie answered, and was surprised to find he, too, was weeping.

"Blount!" Uncle Jack snapped to one of his burliest crew members. "You'll carry the boy, and mind you be easy on him."

"What?" Pennistone barked.

Uncle Jack released him, sword at the ready as the man turned to face him. "We're takin' 'im," Uncle Jack stated.

"No!" cried a woman's voice. It was Subira, who'd been hanging back, terrified. She now rushed forward. "No! My son! You will not take him from me!" She fell to her knees beside Paki, sobbing.

Jamie said to her, desperately, "He'll be killed, ma'am. Please let us!"

But Uncle Jack spoke. "We'll take 'em both. Lads, see to it. Pennistone, I owe you for two house slaves. Here." He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and took out a bag -- the payment for the brandy -- and threw it at Pennistone's feet. "That should make us square."

"Not 'til I see you dead, Sparrow!" The man looked set to have an apoplexy, his face livid.

Uncle Jack gave an ironical bow. "I fear we've outstayed our welcome. Let's go lads."

Two men of Uncle Jack's men took Subira's arms and lifted her to her feet, and Blount bent and scooped up Paki as though he were no more than a babe. Jamie struggled up and found Gil's eyes. His friend nodded, once, his mouth firm though tears streaked his face. Heartsick, Jamie turned away from Gil and followed the rest of the Pearls.

As they retreated, they could hear Pennistone berating his people, ordering them to fetch weapons and follow, but the plantation workers would be no match for seasoned pirates and Jamie had a feeling the Pearls would get away, unmolested.

So it proved.

They attained the beach and the longboats were efficiently loaded, launched, and in short order were skimming across the bay toward the _Black Pearl_.

Jamie was sitting in the lead boat, next to his uncle. When they were well away from the shore, he touched Jack's sleeve. "I'm sorry, Uncle Jack," he said, quietly, though the words had never seemed so useless.

Uncle Jack glanced, unsmiling, down at him. "Scurvy brat," he said, his voice surprisingly mild.

Tears came to Jamie's eyes, and he couldn't speak for the lump in his throat. Perhaps it wasn't quite the end of the world.

Uncle Jack raised his eyes and grimaced at the gibbous orb that lighted their path away from Providence Bay. "Y'know, lad?" he said to Jamie, "Gibbs just might have a point about that moon."

_**TBC  
**_


	6. Epilogue

_**o-o Epilogue o-o**_

The execution was to take place two days hence. Only two more days of pain, cold, filth, and bad food, and the plague of just _thinking_. Could he or Father have done anything different? Was there any way they could have suspected the traitorous perfidy of the Spanish? Claiming the island was theirs, that they had some right to the land, to the plantation his father had built with endless toil and care. To their home. Gilbert was glad his mother had been dead and gone these three years, for surely the events of the last month would have killed her. As they would likely kill his father. If he was even still alive.

Gilbert sighed, and shifted in an effort to ease his half-healed back, and looked out through the small barred window, high up on the wall, through which cold air entered and the stars could be seen. Perhaps he'd be up there among the stars, soon. Or with his mother. He thought about praying, but couldn't make his mind turn to it, not when the stones bit into him, the unfortunate in the next cell moaned in distress, and a rat slipped from the crack in the wall to lap at the slop his gaolers had left him for dinner.

He closed his eyes on his tiny, ugly world, and, after a long while, slept.

**o-o-o**

There was a voice, making demands. Demanding... him.

Gilbert's eyes flicked open. It was morning, but only dull gray light shone in through the window -- there was fog outside, all too common in this area of the coast of Cuba. And the voice was growing irate.

"Insolent dog! If you impede me, the Viceroy will surely hear of it. This young Pennistone -- _barbaric name!_ -- he is to be taken to Havana for questioning. The papers are in order, you said it yourself. The Viceroy is fully capable of seeing his sentence carried out -- after we extract the information we need. Come to Havana, if you insist on witnessing the execution."

There was some argument, the exchange between the newcomer and the resident gaoler becoming too rapid for Gil to follow, though it steadily increased in volume. Gilbert had learned some Spanish, a skill he'd needed to facilitate communication with their erstwhile buyers, but the Viceroy's man was speaking the pure Castilian and was more difficult to understand. He must be someone important. And _questioning_: a frisson of fear swept through Gil. The Inquisition was yet a fixture with the Spanish.

The argument subsided, the gaoler yielding reluctantly, and several sets of booted feet sounded their owners' approach down the stone corridor. Gil struggled to stand: they would not find him languishing, no matter what. Lord, he was sore, though, and he still felt a faint chill and ache of fever. But he forced himself to stand straight and tall. His clothes might be ragged and stained, he might be thin and filthy, he might still be barely seventeen, but he would show them how a man faces his enemies... even unto death.

**o-o-o**

The Viceroy's man was very odd. Gilbert studied him as the open carriage made its way across the yard, out the gates of the fortress, and thence slowly along the road through the little town, crowded just now, for it was market day. Gil was seated between the man's two silent guardsmen, his wrists tied before him, and Don Ascención had the entire wide seat opposite. He looked a right villain, too handsome, too sure of himself, a supercilious smile curving his lips and a glint in his black eyes as he lounged, studying Gil in return. He wasn't a big man, no more than medium height, but he was well-built, slim and wiry. He cut a striking figure in his elegant black clothes, adorned with lace, diamonds, and gold, and Gil suspected that the jewel-hilted sword he wore was more than just an ornament. He also wore a wig, long, black and curling, very unusual for a Spaniard. The word _fop_ came strongly to mind.

Fop or no, he was still dangerous, and when they finally reached the city gates and turned south onto the coast road, rather than north, toward Havana, Gilbert frowned. After a moment said in his best Spanish, "Where are you taking me? Havana lies in the other direction."

"Ah! You are a bright boy. Too bright for your own good. Be silent. You will know where we go, presently."

Gil's eyebrows twitched together. Where could they be taking him, and for what purpose? The carriage was moving more quickly now, the crowds coming to market thinning rapidly. Soon he would be entirely alone with this man and his underlings. He was suddenly aware of how very helpless he was, and turned his head so that Don Ascención might not see his fear, staring blindly through the fog toward the sound of the waves on the rocks.

Another few minutes passed in silence, and they left behind the last of the straggling market-goers. The coachman cracked his whip over the horses and they broke into a brisk trot. The carriage was well-sprung, but there was increased movement even so, jarring Gil's back. He shifted, sitting up straighter in an effort to ease it.

But then Don Ascención leaned forward, and nodded to the guard on Gil's right side. To Gil's surprise, the guard got up, and the two switched places. Gil shrank away as the Don settled close to him, and then gasped when the man produced a knife, shining and wicked sharp!

"What are you doing?" Gil demanded, hair on end, voice squeaking shamefully.

For the first time, Don Ascención grinned, showing teeth that were very white... and gold! And to Gil's astonishment, he said in English, "Do you not know me, Gilbert Pennistone? Jamie thought you would." And then he took the knife and slit the cords that bound Gilbert's wrists.

Gil stared. "Jack Sparrow?" he breathed.

Jack Sparrow rolled his eyes, and said, "It's _Captain_ Sparrow. _Captain_." He looked sadly at his cohorts. "Why do they never remember?"

**o-o-o**

The rest of the journey was like a dream for Gil. The fog began to burn off, and the horses moved along even more rapidly.

"Just hang on," said Captain Sparrow. "We'll have you off Spanish land in a trice. Plenty of time to talk when we get to the _Pearl_. "

Gil nodded, too overcome to speak anyway.

A few minutes later, the carriage slowed and they rounded a corner and stopped, overlooking a secluded inlet. The _Black Pearl_ lay anchored in the middle of it, like a ship from a fairy tale, a creature of mist and shadow. Gil couldn't help his gasp at the sight. This was real, he was among friends. "Jamie's down there?" he managed to croak.

"Aye," said Jack, "and lots of others you'll remember. And a few you'll be meeting for the first time."

The driver was paid off and drove away. There was a steep, narrow path down the cliff face to the beach which they descended carefully. A longboat was waiting, and before he knew it, Gil was climbing the Jacob's ladder up the _Pearl_'s side, to Jamie, who was waiting for him at the top.

Grown up, he was, but not grown out of friendship. Jamie threw his arms around Gil, pulling him close, and Gil ignored the discomfort and returned the favor. "Gil!" said Jamie, "I was afraid we might be too late."

"Careful of his back," said Jamie's uncle, stepping onto the deck behind Gil.

Jamie released Gil, and frowned. "Why?"

"Flogged," Jack said shortly.

Jamie looked horrified -- and angry. "_Why?_"

Gil shrugged, wincing. "Insolence, they said. I wasn't very _tractable_. It was only a dozen, but it cut me up more than you'd expect."

A familiar voice spoke. "We'll take a look at that in the surgery, get you fixed up, eh lad?"

"Mr. Gibbs!"

"Aye!" said Jamie. "And here's someone else you know." He drew forward a tall, dusky-skinned lad with speaking eyes and a smile that held a hint of uncertainty.

Gil gasped. "Paki?"

Jamie broke in. "He's 'Paul' now. Gentleman Joe said it was safer."

"Except to my mother," the young pirate who was once the slave Paki chuckled.

"Subira!" Gil exclaimed. "She's well?"

Paul nodded. "She's at the Cove. She's made a life there."

Jamie said, with the weight of days long past, "Shipwreck Cove's the place, if ever you need somewhere to run"

Gil stared. "You _did_ tell me that!"

"It's the truth," Paul said. "You'll see."

"It seems so." Gil put an unsteady hand on Paul's arm. "It's good to see you, my friend."

**o-o-o**

There was one new face that was soon made known to Gil: Jamie's father. He was taller than Jamie, though not by much, and looked nearly as young – too young to have a grown son. He was darker of hair and eye, too, eyes held a strange, sober light, as though he'd seen things no mortal man should see.

"But… Jamie told me…" stammered Gil.

Jamie said airily, "Aye, but that's all changed. I'll tell you how it came about later – it's a great story! Captain William Turner, meet Gilbert Pennistone."

Captain Turner shook Gil's hand, but said, "I believe they haven't told you, and it shouldn't wait longer. I've some ill news for you, lad. About your father."

Gil blanched. "He… he was wounded, wasn't he? The day they took me hostage."

Captain Sparrow said, "Aye. But he sent word to us, about you being taken, and the plantation besieged, as it were."

Gil's throat tightened, but he managed, "They didn't tell me, but I knew he… was gone. When they said I'd hang." He swallowed hard. "But you saw him?"

"Jack and I were with him at the end, Gil." Captain Turner put a warm hand on Gil's shoulder, and this, and something in his voice, made his words more bearable. "I won't tell you not to grieve -- that would be foolish. But you should know that he did what needed to be done, and lived long enough to see his people to safety. He lost everything, but he died a hero."

**o-o-o**

Mr. Gibbs led Gil, accompanied by Jamie and Paul, down into the screened off area of the hold that served as the _Pearl_'s surgery. The boys helped Gil strip off his shirt and their reactions to the sight of his back did not encourage the hope that the tending of it would be painless. Paki's -- _Paul's_ -- eyes widened, as did Jamie's, accompanied by a low whistle. Mr. Gibbs tsked and matter-of-factly fetched a bottle of rum.

Gil protested, "It's not that bad, is it? The gaoler had me doused with sea water, twice a day. Bloody cold, _and_ hurt like the devil."

"Healin' fine, most of it," Mr. Gibbs assured him, heartily. "Sea water, aye, that works all right. It's just a couple o' spots that've gone a mite septic. I'll have to clean 'em, and it may be a bit of a trial. Drink up, lad."

Gil obediently took a swig, but wrinkled his nose at the taste and burn of it. "_Gah!_ Haven't touched anything stronger than wine since that night the shed burned."

"Me, too!" laughed Jamie. His smile faded. "Was your da very hard on you after we'd taken our leave that night?"

Gil made a wry face. "Couldn't sit for a few days. But I was expecting worse, and he didn't stay angry with me, God be thanked, though it took the plantation some time to recover from the loss." He shook his head and glanced between Jamie and Paul. "I don't know what happened that night. He wasn't himself. He was a good man, and of sound reason, most of the time."

Jamie shrugged. "It was a big loss, like you said. And captains don't like having their authority questioned."

Gil nodded. "That's true." He eyed Jamie. "How did you fare? Did your uncle thrash you?"

"Ha!" Jamie scoffed. "If only it had been that quick and simple. We had Paul and his mother with us, and everyone aboard the _Pearl _knew what'd happened. There was no question my mother was going to find out. Uncle Jack told me he saw no reason to trouble himself when he could predict to a nicety what she'd do, whether he thrashed me or no. He was right. I was forbidden to sail as crew on any ship, and on the _Pearl _at all, for a whole year."

"Oh, Jamie!" Gil could well believe his friend would've chafed dreadfully at such a harsh punishment.

"You had me to keep you company," Paul pointed out.

"Aye. That helped," agreed Jamie. "Except when Gentleman Joe took you off for three months. But you did ease the pain a bit." He grinned, and put his arm around Paul's shoulders.

"Speakin' of pain," Mr. Gibbs broke in, pointedly, "take another good drink of that rum, lad. You three'll have plenty of time to pick up old threads, but I've got things to do topside."

"Aye, sir," said Gil. He took another swallow of the distasteful stuff. "Ugh!" He shuddered, all over. "I can't do it! Please, Mr. Gibbs, I'll be still. Jamie can stay and squeeze my hand, like he did that day that turtle got me. And Paul, too." He held out his hands, and Jamie and Paul each took one, both of them grinning like fools. Just like he was himself.

**o-o-o**

In spite of yet being dressed _like some la-di-dah Spanish nancy-boy _(as Pintel put it to Ragetti, _sotto voce_), Captain Jack Sparrow strode about the _Pearl_'s deck, barking fierce commands right and left, and his crew scurried to do his bidding. Some manned the sweeps, some swarmed up the ratlines and prepared to set the sails as soon as they were clear of the inlet. Satisfied that all was being carried out as ordered, Jack ascended the steps to the quarterdeck where Captain Turner was manning the helm.

"Gil seems a likely lad," Will commented.

"Aye -- though he'll have it in for the Spanish from now on, I'll wager. Can't really blame 'im." Jack ran a finger under his tight collar. "Lace and black velvet. In this climate! I ask you!"

"Now don't try to tell me you didn't relish that masquerade."

Jack smirked. "Went off well, if I do say so meself. Always gives me pleasure to tweak Spanish noses. Everything tied up nice an' neat."

Will raised a brow. "What about Elizabeth?"

Jack's smirk vanished. "What about her? I sent a message off to her!"

"You told her we were going out for a few days of artillery practice. We've been gone three weeks, and it'll be four by the time we get home."

"Still the truth. As I recall, we had artillery practice in spades."

"Hmmm." Will nodded, skeptically. "Somehow I doubt she'll see a pitched battle with the Spanish as artillery practice."

"She'll be fine," Jack soothed. "Everyone's safe and sound. And if Her Nibs' feathers're a touch ruffled, just think of the delightful time we'll have smoothin' 'em down, eh?"

Will laughed. "You've had a great deal of practice at _that_ over the years, haven't you?"

"Got it down to a science," Jack assured him. "No worries, lad. I'll give you lessons."

_**The End**_


End file.
